


Deep Six

by undernox



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6862729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernox/pseuds/undernox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Samaritan broke Shaw and what she did to fight back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Six

Shaw’s life is an endless parade of needles, probes, and medication, but there are things she remembers, in between. 

The first memory that bubbles to the surface, oddly enough, is of Hersh. He sits at a table in a cafe, frozen in place, teeth gritted. She’d laid a trap for him, the man who trained her - her mentor - and she had caught him in it. He was clearly proud of her, even at her mercy, there’s no doubt in Shaw’s mind. But all the times she’s replayed this, examining it from every angle, sterically, surgically - what she could have done better, details she might have missed in the heat of the mission, things that would help her improve the next time, make her a better operative - this time it’s different. This time, when she remembers sitting across from Hersh, his body stiff from the drugs she’s slipped him, there’s something in her throat, like she’s swallowed wrong. She tries clearing it, but it’s lodged. Hersh asks her if they’re treating her well, and she thinks _fuck you, Hersh_ even as she says out loud, “they haven’t tried to kill me yet,” but part of her knows that now her mentor is gone. He’s dead, and he’s never coming back, and the lump in her throat spiders out and cracks down into her chest. 

“Good,” an oily voice says, and she’s not staring into Hersh’s eyes any more. She’s back in this hellish windowless room, plugged in to monitors and god knows what other kinds of equipment, hearing the maddening _beep beep beep_ that’s been the soundtrack to her life for as long as she can remember. 

Greer sits at the foot of her bed, reclined in a metal chair. 

He leans forward. “Welcome back, my dear. I think it’s safe to call that a rousing success. Don’t you?” 

Shaw grits her teeth. “What the hell was that?” 

Greer gives her a tight-lipped smile and says, “Samaritan has decided to give you a gift.” 

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” 

Greer chuckles. “That’s not for you to decide, I’m afraid.” He’s holding what looks like a tablet and busies himself with it for a moment. “When we’re finished, Ms. Shaw, you’ll be a whole new person. Won’t that be fun?” He pushes a button and Shaw’s eyes roll back. 

She’s at the firing range. On her belly, in the cold dirt. It’s a hazy gray and the air is crisp. Winter. 

Boot camp. Firing week. 

Shaw smirks. Finally, a memory worth reliving. 

Cole’s next to her, cursing quietly under his breath. Cole always had trouble hitting targets when prone, which is ridiculous Shaw thinks. It’s the easiest thing in the world. The DI is getting closer, and Shaw makes a snap decision, twists in a rigid motion, sliding her body against the ground. She sights up, hits Cole’s target just as he also fires, and slides back to her original position in one fluid motion, firing a shot off at her own target smoothly. 

Not smooth enough. The DI is hauling her up, staring her down, coldly. Then, he’s screaming. She thinks she’s better than her team; she can’t even let them hit their own targets. Congratulations, she’s earned them all extra KP for a month. Shaw smirks, but once where there was only a feeling of simmering anger, she feels … indignant. Is that…? She can’t exactly put a finger on it, but it’s there and it’s searing. She was helping a fucking teammate and this is unfair and -

The firing range melts into nothing around her, and she’s in a dark room. It takes her a second to get her bearings, but when she realizes where she is, she sucks in a breath. Cole is beneath her, bleeding out on the wooden floorboards. She tries to make a joke. 

“Always trying to be the hero, huh?” And when Cole laughs, Shaw remembers. 

He says, “No. Just yours.” And it dawns on her, like it has a million times before, that he had her on this pedestal. One that she never asked for. In her memory, she watches him slump, watches him die, feels the breath leave his chest below her hands, and before she’s always been angry. Angry at him for placing so much trust in her. Angry at herself for letting him. But this time… there’s a wave of something she’s never felt before. It rolls up inside of her, beside her anger, and makes its way up her throat. She retches. 

Shaw gasps, and bolts up in her bed, clawing at the wires and patches stuck to her skin. The _beep beep beep_ is erratic, faster. Meaty hands grab her shoulders and thrust her back down. Greer clicks his tongue. 

“I’m disappointed, Ms. Shaw. I was promised that you’d be able to withstand torture.” 

She’s settled now, still, but there is venom in her eyes. “Fuck. You.” This isn’t torture, this is - Well. She has no idea what this is. But it definitely doesn’t have the danger and excitement that she normally senses when she’s in the chair. This is different. This is… wrong. “You’re rewriting my memories. Putting things into them that were never there.” 

Greer just says, “I told you, Sameen. Samaritan is giving you a gift. The ability to feel. Anyone should be grateful for the opportunity.” 

He pushes another button on his tablet, and Shaw is instantly flooded with another memory. 

October 2, 1988. 

Fuck. 

There’s broken glass, and sirens, and wet pavement. She’s covered in lacerations and contusions. Wrapped in a blanket. They think she doesn’t understand, that she’s too young to know what’s happened, but she does. 

Shaw grits her teeth and glares at Greer, who just reclines slightly, watching her, amused. Whatever this is, she can take it. 

Her father’s broken body lies in the wreckage of an overturned sedan, while an EMT tries to explain that he’s gone to sleep and won’t ever wake up. 

Shaw doesn’t think of this memory often, but whenever she does, she only remembers that she felt… hungry. And she remembers the peanut butter and jelly sandwich they’d given her as if she’d never stopped eating it. But this time. Oh, this time, there’s no time for her to isolate and catalog whatever it is that comes along with this memory before the otherworldly howl claws its way up her throat. 

Greer’s face is smug when he makes a notation on his tablet. 

-

Shaw has no idea how long this goes on. It’s endless days of Greer calling up memories and marking things down when she reacts. 

They keep her drugged, and her once steely mind bows beneath the weight of being forced to feel emotions she’s never learned how to deal with. Sadness, grief, loss, pain. She has no idea how people live like this, she thinks. 

She’s done her best to keep her thoughts clear of her team, but Greer is getting better at pulling the strings. Or Samaritan is. At this point, she’s not even sure anymore.

-

She’s in a chair, with her arms strapped down. Root is kneeling in front of her, dressed in Veronica Sinclair’s suit, holding an iron to Shaw’s chest. Shaw can feel the heat coming off the iron, roiling between them, and she sucks in a breath. She wonders which she will feel when the hot metal is pressed into her skin - pain or arousal. Maybe both. She’s always been a big fan of pain and the rush it brings her. 

Until now. 

“What?” Root asks. 

Shaw rolls over, stretching her arms beneath her pillow, hiding her face from Root. They’re in Shaw’s bed, in the dark. “What, _what?_ ” she mumbles.

“You were staring,” Root suggests, and Shaw huffs. 

“You wish.” 

Root hums. “I do.” 

“Stop it,” Shaw warns, and Greer presses his thin lips into a mirthless smile. 

They’re in the back of a van, watching their number on the monitors. Good old fashioned stake-out, Shaw had thought. 

“The Machine has a job for us,” Root had told her. “You. Me. The back of a _very_ private van.” 

Root had raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Shaw had scoffed. “Root, we’re working tonight,” she’d warned, and Root had just shrugged as if to say _you can’t blame a girl for trying._

But when it counted, Root was all business, and Shaw admired that about her, how good she was at what they did. Shaw admired it in a professional way. Except that, remembering it now, watching Root type code into her laptop in the back of the van, her long hair hanging down around her face, Shaw knew it was something more. Root had glanced up, saw Shaw watching her, and had smiled a simple, gorgeous smile, completely sincere and absent of any pretense. It was rare, between them. And something entirely unfamiliar unfurled and flapped in Shaw’s chest, like a ship’s sail whipping in the wind. It threatened to take over, and she considered letting it. Her eyes glistened with some emotion that she had no idea how to put into words. 

This wasn’t her, she didn’t feel things, not like this, not even for Root, who’d come closer than anybody ever had. She knew Greer was behind it and it made her sick. 

“Hey,” Root said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Shaw’s ear. “Where did you go? Come back to me.” 

“What?” Shaw said dumbly.

Root was tracing gentle fingers over her face. “Sameen?” This wasn’t right. This wasn’t a memory. Root had never done this, never said it. Shaw would have remembered something so intimate, would have slapped Root’s hand away and distanced herself. Shaw stiffened, heard Greer mumble something about “not being ready for imposed memory allocation yet,” and then things faded into a very familiar memory. One that Shaw had replayed in her mind. A lot. 

Root was eating an apple. “Behind you,” she’d said, with her mouth full, and Shaw had only had a moment to react. Everything faded to background noise except the fight that was on her hands, and she’d brought the agent to the ground, twice. It wasn’t until Root had disinterestedly tased the man that Shaw remembered she was even there.

Root had called in her pick up, and Shaw had asked what the package was. There was an odd smile on Root’s face when she’d pulled the hood and zip ties from a drawer and said, “I am.” Shaw, still buzzing from her tussle with the CIA agent, felt the unmistakeable drive for action flare up. She glanced at the agent on the floor. 

Root slinked up to her. “We do have 10 hours until the pickup,” Root had purred into her ear, trailing a steady hand slowly down Shaw’s arm. “And I don’t see a tv. Whatever will we do to pass the time?” 

God, she was so freaking _annoying_ , with her prophet-of-god attitude and her saccharine sweet voice that was clearly baiting Shaw. And yet…The thought of being stuck in this tiny room for 10 hours with Root with nothing to do sounded like hell. Shaw had let her eyes flick down to Root’s lips while she debated. It wasn’t until Root smirked and added, “I’ll bet there’s even an iron around here somewhere and we can finish what we started last time,” that Shaw made her decision and pulled Root into a rough kiss by her leather lapels. She vaguely heard a half-eaten apple thunk on the floor behind her when Root’s hands tangled into her hair. 

This. This was real. 

Shaw somehow drags herself to the surface. “Leave her out of this,” she hisses, tears streaking down her face. It seems she cries all of the time now. She doesn’t know how to control it. There’s pain and grief and something else she can’t identify inside of her, and Greer’s the one who put it there. Pushes the buttons. Pulls the strings. Makes her want to collapse under this weight. No person should have to feel this much. She could end it. She’s ready for it to end. 

This isn’t torture, she thinks. She can stare torture in the face, unblinking. She _has_. This is different. This is not something the Marines can prepare you for, having someone shove a zip file full of emotions into your brain and forcing you to feel them. Her brain tells her it’s over. They’ve won. The only feeling Shaw will ever feel for the rest of her life is pain. 

So she cries, strapped to this bed.

This is bullshit. 

“Patience, my dear,” Greer says it cheerfully, like he’s delivering good news. “It’s time for a rest. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.” When he stands and leaves, Shaw is only relieved for a moment because Martine takes his place with a grim smile on her face.

“Did you miss me, Shaw?” she says, raising a long, thick needle.

“I miss you like I miss an intestinal parasite,” Shaw retorted, and Root smirked, eyes full of affection even when Shaw is pushing her away. Just because they sleep together occasionally doesn’t mean that Shaw needs to play the doting girlfriend. She’s not that girl, and Root swears that she doesn’t expect her to be. She’s warned Root that the minute Root does, it’s over.

The plane ride to Alaska is full of heat and sweat and heavy breathing, but when Root brings her hand to Shaw’s throat, there’s pain instead of pleasure. Shaw’s never buckled under rough play and she steels herself, angry that she can’t take it. “Root,” she growls in warning, but the stabbing pain is back, a malicious look on Root’s face, and Shaw’s eyes flutter. Root’s face twists, morphs, and it isn’t Root but Martine, a deliciously evil look on her face as she hovers above Shaw, driving the needle in deeper. 

“Stop,” Shaw gasps, and Martine chuckles. 

“Are you going to use your safeword, Shaw?” she asks, and Shaw’s eyes drop again. 

She shoves at Root, to get her off, but Root holds tighter. The pain is burning now, and Shaw grits out, “Root. Stop.” 

Root feigns disappointment. “It’s not too much for you, is it? And here I thought you could take _anything_ , Sameen.” Root’s innuendo is there, but this time it makes Shaw’s skin crawl. It’s not delightfully irritating; it’s disgusting, and Shaw wants to cram it back down Root’s self-righteous throat.

“This isn’t… how… it happened,” Shaw thinks aloud, and Root laughs. A musical, evil laugh. The pain that sears through Shaw’s heart at Root’s cruelty is not something she’s prepared for, and she buckles as everything goes dark. 

-

When she wakes up, Reese is sitting at her bedside. She tries to sit up and pain shoots through her arm into her neck. She collapses, and says gruffly, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

He sits perfectly still. “I know.” 

She wets her lips, looks at the ceiling. “You’d better leave. If they find you here, they’ll kill you.” 

“I know.” 

“Is that all you can-” She looks back at him, angrily. But he’s not there. 

There’s no one there.

-

Harold was in her ear, telling her to come back to the library. Shaw rolled her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted for the third time. 

She’s fine. 

“Ms. Shaw,” Harold began, but Shaw cut him off. There’s duct tape cutting into her arm, but the blood is still slowly seeping out from the edges.

“Look, Harold, I was supposed to save the kid. They took her right out from under me. And I’m going to get her back.” She disconnected her comm and decided to worry about being scolded later. What’s Finch going to do? Fire her? 

“Tell me about her. The child.”

Well, she _thought_ she’d disconnected her comm. Must be faulty. Shaw adjusted her grip on her Walther and scoffed. “Jesus, Finch, did you hit your head or something?” She leaned against a brick facade, surveying the street, trying to figure her next move. “Aren’t you going through her tapes right now?” 

“Indeed. My mistake. Please continue, Sameen.” 

Something isn’t right. She should have found Gen hours ago. The sun is setting and - Wait. She _did_ find Gen hours ago. But then…

“Finch?” 

“Yes, my dear?” The connection is clear. Clearer than she’s ever remembered it.

“Finch, have you ever spent any time in England?” Harold’s British accent is confusing, and - It dawns on her. “Greer,” Shaw says. 

“Mr. Greer is there? Ms. Shaw, he’s dangerous. You must get to safety,” Harold tells her urgently, and then Shaw’s confused. 

“I’ll kill him,” she says as she scans the street for him, because that’s the one thing she still feels absolutely clear on. 

When there’s a laugh in response, Shaw narrows her eyes. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that, my dear,” and the fog lifts enough for her to see the mirth in Greer’s eyes. 

Of course it was a trick. There’s nothing in her life anymore that’s not. 

-

Bear licks her face, and Shaw is happy. She’d felt content before whenever she was with Bear, but now… she’s really, truly joyful. It feels… god, it feels incredible, the warmth in her chest. He jumps, puts his paws on her and she tumbles backwards on the subway floor. A laugh bubbles up, and she notices then that John is looking at her with a happy expression on his own face. Harold is even smiling at them from his desk. 

There’s only one thing missing. “Where’s Root?” Shaw asks, leaning into Bear’s kisses. 

“I think she’s in Brazil this week,” John says. 

That’s right, Shaw remembers, Root is in Brazil, and there’s a mild disappointment that Root can’t be here with them during this moment. Shaw misses her. But there’s also something else that Shaw hasn’t thought of before. 

Root is in Brazil. She’s 4,000 miles away in who knows what kind of dangerous situation she’s in, and Shaw couldn’t get to her in time if she needed backup. Shaw’s hands drop to her side, and Bear nudges her. What if Root needed them, and they weren’t there? And, god, Root does this all of the time, going off on her own into certain danger, with no way for Shaw to protect her.

John notices right away that Shaw’s whole demeanor has changed, and he sits up a little straighter. “Shaw?” he asks, and she bursts into tears against Bear’s neck. 

She knows this never happened. She knows that they’re messing with her memories again, but this - god, this fucking feeling that she’s flooded with won’t let go and she feels like she’s drowning. There are tears on her face and a catch in her throat, but there is murder in her eyes as she glares at Greer, who makes a note in his tablet and says something to Martine, who nods alongside him.

She cries, and she’s sitting next to Carter with a duffel full of guns between them. Before, she’d been proud of Carter and fairly jealous that she wasn’t invited along to help, but now… oh god, now, she’s full of worry and tears and is leaning forward, grasping at Carter, begging her not to go alone. And Carter is looking at her like she’s crazy, and Shaw feels like she is actually crazy. None of this is real and yet she’s so full of agony that Carter is doing this alone. She has no idea how to dry these tears that have been unbottled and she curses Greer and Martine and Samaritan for the thousandth time that day. 

Carter pulls herself loose and gives Shaw a sideways look. “Thanks for your help, Shaw, but I’ve got this,” she says, and she leaves Shaw in the bar, shaking her head as she goes. 

Shaw tries to get a grip on herself. People do this all the time, she thinks. They feel sad or worried or lonely constantly, and they keep themselves together. 

_You’re not strong. You’re failing. They’re winning. Give up._

This is not like her. She’s a Marine for god’s sake. She’s a soldier, and a damn good one. 

But they’re taking it all away, Shaw thinks. She can’t handle these emotions; she’s never had to and she doesn’t know how. She’s not a soldier. She’s a toddler all over again. 

And then she sees calm, steady brown eyes, almost as if they’re right in front of her. Eyes she’s gazed into a thousand times. There’s a flash in them and Shaw can see Root’s anger crackling like lightning. She doesn’t look away. She wants to be struck. 

“You can do this,” Root says. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you’ve come so far already.” 

Shaw shakes her head, her hair falling softly against the pillow. “I can’t,” she whispers. 

“You will, or you’ll die. And if you die,,” Root leans closer, “if you die on me again, Sameen, I will never forgive you. Now, get. Up.” 

Shaw laughs, then. Now she knows she’s crazy. “Get up? Root, I’m chained to the bed. These assholes are scared of me, even with this bullshit in my head.” She glares at Greer, who steps forward abruptly. 

“We’ve made quite a good deal of progess today, Ms. Shaw, but I think now it’s time to rest.” Shaw snorts, because rest here doesn’t really mean rest, and she’s right because Martine steps forward with a smug look on her face. 

“Shaw,” Martine says, her look dripping over Shaw, teeth bared. “Did you miss me?” 

-

They’re winning. 

They’re winning, and I’m losing… everything. Myself. 

I need a way to cope, Shaw thinks. 

She’s alone, for once. The room is empty, and she’s alone. Good. It gives her time to think. Some way to cope. Something to hold on to, when they pry into her brain. Something that’s easy…

There’s the medal that Gen gave her. Shaw turns it around in her mind. The meaning behind it is right, but it’s too physical. It’s a token, a totem, and Shaw has no way to use it to ground herself physically. So, maybe she needs an emotional connection. She has all of these new emotions now, maybe she can… that’s a bad idea. Emotions are the enemy in this fight. It’d be like pouring gasoline all over herself and then expecting it to help when Greer starts lighting his matches. What’s left? 

Mental. 

Shaw’s always been smart. Top of her class in med school. Her memory is unreliable, she thinks, but only when it comes to her emotions. That’s what they’re playing with. Forcing her to feel things she was never meant to feel. They’ve cranked her volume way fucking up and she needs to find a way to plug her ears before she goes deaf. 

Good. So, facts. Things that can’t be twisted. Things she won’t forget, even under extreme stress. 

She starts a short list.

The date her father died. Her service number. No good, those are things they can look up, use against her. 

The hotel room number where she first met Root. Good, that’s harder to figure out, if she slips and says it out loud. Room 488. Better, but it’s still not good enough. Samaritan would have that information. It might take it a while, but Shaw is confident Samaritan would figure it out. 

So, someplace Samaritan wouldn’t see. The shadow map. Things that happened in camera dead zones. “People who care for you. Try to remember that,” Shaw whispers, and her throat clenches around the words. No, that’s emotional. Manipulatable. 

_Damn it._

What is someplace that Samaritan would never see, never know? There’s got to be- Shaw feels the blood rush into her cheeks. Her apartment. More specifically, her bedroom. 

Whenever Root stayed over, Shaw was adamant. No devices, no cameras of any kind in the bedroom. 

“What could it hurt?” Root had said, bright-eyed and breathless at the idea of the Machine being able to see them together. 

Shaw scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I’m not putting on a show for your all-seeing other half, Root. It’s creepy. Forget it.” 

“Maybe just a few nights a month,” Root had countered, and Shaw had turned burning eyes on her. 

“Look, I’m pretty open about sex in general, but I’m not interested in having a voyeur AI in our bedroom. You got a problem with that, there’s the door.” 

She’d realized what she’d said a second too late, and Root was already closing the distance between them, sliding her hands around Shaw’s body and down to cup her ass. “ _Our_ bedroom?” 

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Fine. If you want to call it that, I don’t give a shit.” She disentangled herself from Root enough to shrug out of her jacket. “You spend more time here than I do anyway. But no cameras. Or microphones. Non-negotiable. ” 

Root looked down at her solemnly and criss-crossed her fingers over her own heart, drawing another eye roll from Shaw. But she could feel her own smile threatening to break through. 

Okay, Shaw breathes. Good. She can do this. Something from the bedroom. Something that can’t be manipulated. Facts. Facts from the bedroom. 

Shaw grins. This could be fun. 

She leans back and lets herself think. 

When she kisses Root, there is a very distinct chip in one tooth that Shaw can feel with her tongue. 

There is small birthmark on the inside of Root’s left thigh, very _very_ high up. 

Root’s safeword is “boot loader.” 

She has never ever used it.

Root sleeps on the left side of the bed so that Sameen is on her good side when they’re laying side by side. Otherwise, she can’t sleep. 

Shaw insists that she doesn’t need a safeword. Root insists that, while that might be so, Shaw can find someone else to tie her to the headboard at night unless she chooses one. 

There’s a spot on Shaw’s body that Root kisses first every single time they sleep together. It annoys Shaw initially, but eventually she gets used to the routine, and even learns to like it. A lot. But she would never say it out loud. 

Shaw’s safeword is “deep six.” 

The first time Root had slept in Shaw’s bed, Shaw pushed her back, breaking their kiss. Root looked at her quizzically, and Shaw put her hands on Root’s shoulders. “I don’t… feel things like other people do, but I don’t enjoy hurting people either.” Root waited patiently for her to present a point. “I can’t give you certain things, Root,” Shaw said plainly. “I don’t do relationships. I’m down for a good time, and that’s it. I don’t cuddle. I won’t make you breakfast. And you’ll be lucky if I don’t knock that smug look off your face.” 

“Why, Shaw, is that a promise?” 

“I’m serious, Root. If this doesn’t work for you, then we need to stop. Now.”

“You bring up something that I’ve never thought of before in my life, Shaw.” Root sounded so sarcastic that Shaw wanted to throttle her. “I know what I’m getting into, and I can handle myself. Right now, I want whatever you can give me, and if that’s just sex, then I have no doubt it’s going to be good sex. I don’t need a girlfriend. I need _you._ ” Root took Shaw’s hand then and brought it to her mouth. “I want to be right here,” she slowly sucked one of Shaw’s fingers into her mouth and Shaw’s eyes were instantly heavy, “with you right now.” Root scraped her teeth along Shaw’s skin and Shaw’s breathing deepened instinctively. “I’m not asking for you to feel anything other than…” she looked down suggestively, “my hands on your body.” 

Shaw still didn’t fully trust that this - whatever this was - was working, but Root’s mouth was on her skin, and she _did_ like having this wild, unpredictable lover in her bed. There was always an air of danger to whatever she and Root did together that was Shaw’s exact drug of choice. 

Shaw consented softly and then Root was pushing her down, down, and holding her under for so long that she thought she might burst. 

This is where she finds herself when Greer pushes open the door to her room. She resurfaces, glares at him, and hopes that she’s found herself some sort of life jacket to keep herself afloat during whatever fresh hell they’ll be subjecting her to. It’s like Greer can read her mind because his grin is pure evil. “Good morning, Ms. Shaw. It’s time to begin phase 2.” 

-

Phase 2, it turns out, is Martine’s show. Greer is still nearby with his tablet, but he is conspicuously quiet, watching Martine work and making the occasional note. 

Martine does not draw things out. She crosses immediately to Shaw, wrenches up her hand and unlaces the leather restraints around Shaw’s forearms. She’s free, she thinks, and then a harsh laugh barks forth. 

_You’ll never be free of this._

“Get up,” Martine says, and for the first time, Shaw notices her hair is brown. Brown like Root’s. 

Martine turns her back, and there’s no time to think things through. Shaw lunges. She fails to consider that being bedridden for so long, coupled with the drugs that are coursing through her system, might make hand-to-hand combat more difficult than she’s used to. Martine sidesteps her easily, bringing a closed fist down on Shaw’s back and dropping her to the floor. 

“Get up.” 

It takes Shaw twice as long to pull herself to her feet. “I have a proposition,” Martine says. “Beat me, and you can sleep without the restraints tonight. Would you like that, Shaw?” 

Shaw spits at Martine’s feet. “Go to hell.” 

Martine tisks. “Suit yourself,” she says and when Shaw lunges again, she brings a knee up into Shaw’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Shaw, gasping, reaches down and claws at Martine’s planted foot, catching her around the ankle and jerking upward. Martine loses her balance and stumbles backward. Shaw sees an opportunity and brings a fist down on Martine’s sternum. Hard. 

Martine crumples to the floor. 

“Get up, Root.” Shaw spits to the side, keeps her hands up. 

Root struggles to her feet. “Give me a second. It’s not as easy for me. You’re so much closer to the ground than I am.” Shaw rolls her eyes and easily dodges a swipe Root makes. She shakes her head. 

“You’re still swinging wide. You’re thinking about it too much and I can see it coming.” 

“Well, I’m not a boxer, Shaw.” Roots voice drops as she circles Shaw. “I’m much better with a gun.” 

“Yeah, until you don’t have one.” Shaw jabs, fast and close, and catches Root’s chin. Root’s head snaps back and when she recovers and looks at Shaw again, it’s with a dark, hungry look. “This is important to me,” Shaw says. “Pay attention.” 

Root huffs and takes a sturdy swing, which Shaw dodges. “Better. But you’re still swinging with just your arm. Need to put your whole body behind the punch. Again.” 

Root grins, a rivulet of blood dripping down her chin. “I’m just going to tase you. Easiest way to get your on your back.” 

Shaw shakes her head as if to clear it. She says in a low voice, making sure Harold can’t hear her from his workstation, “Tell you what, Root, you land a punch and I’ll let you take me from behind tonight.” 

There’s a sharp uppercut to Shaw’s ribs before she’s even done talking, and she clutches at her side, dropping her guard. “That’s better-” she starts to say, and another punch lands firmly across her jaw, blood and spit spraying from her mouth. “Jesus, Root, take it easy-” Another cross pummels down on her and Root towers above, looking almost feral. 

“I could kill you, you know,” she says coolly, and Shaw doesn’t think she could, not even with Shaw’s current disadvantage. 

Something clicks in her head. This isn’t right. This isn’t _Root._

Shaw sets her jaw. “I can’t be your girlfriend,” she tells Root, steadying herself with one hand splayed against the floor. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Root demands, and Shaw grins up her. 

“Deep six,” Shaw grunts as she lunges, feeling her other hand crack against Root’s nose. Root cries out in pain and clutches at her nose, blood gushing between her fingers. Shaw gains her footing and draws back for another cross-

“That’s quite enough,” Greer says, and there’s a blinding flash of pain in Shaw’s head that drops her to the ground. 

-

She can’t remember the last time she had a steak. 

Or any solid food, for that matter. 

-

Some days, she never sees Root at all. Those days are easier. 

-

She’s finally put a word to the feeling that compresses her chest and makes her feel like she’s in cardiac arrest whenever Root turns hostile towards her during their trainings - it’s fear. Fear that she will hurt Root. Or kill her. Fear that Root hates her. Fear that there is only one way out of this. 

She repeats things to herself a lot. 

_Sundown. Ottowa._ Martine hits her, again. Shaw manages to hold her head up. _I don’t need a girlfriend. We’re inside a sleeping beast, Shaw._ There’s another needle behind her ear, and she screws her eyes shut tight. _Try not to wake it up._ Her lip is bleeding, she thinks. Again. Or still. _Deep six._ Martine is hurting her, and she can no longer remember a time when she thought pain was exciting. _I said deep fucking six, Root. What’s your problem?_

“I’m coming for you, Shaw. I’m coming to get you.” Shaw’s eyes drift closed, and her lips are being kissed so, so gently. “I just… I don’t know exactly where you are. The Machine can’t… We don’t know where you are, Shaw.” 

“Machine can’t see me or you can’t hear it?” Shaw slurs. “Is your implant busted?”

“Yes,” Root says, “it’s been bleeding all day, and-” Shaw pulls at her, pushes her hair back from Root’s ear, inspecting the area. 

“It looks okay to me.”

“Your concern for her is touching,” Root whispers, and then another scorching pain sears through her head and Shaw’s body goes limp. 

-

“Get up,” Root hisses. 

“No,” Shaw says, spitting blood onto the mat. “I know you hate me, Root, but I won’t hurt you.” 

Root scoffs, and her fist thuds against Shaw’s ribs, pushing a soft grunt out of Shaw’s mouth. 

“I don’t hate you. But Samaritan is going to use me against you and you have be strong enough to fight back. You should know by now, Shaw. I can take it. Now get _up_.”

When Shaw looks at her, she seems so sure of herself. So determined. 

“Okay, but not the ear. I don’t want to fuck up your cochlear implant.” 

Root smiles then, and nods. “Okay,” she says just as Shaw reaches up and flips her onto the mat, knocking the wind out of her. 

As Shaw rains her fists down on Root’s face, she thinks hazily that this doesn’t seem right. 

-

Shaw no longer needs to be restrained. She wears a black tank top and black cargos, sits alone in a metal chair in her room. They tell her she’s recovering. Root will come to see her soon. 

“No she won’t,” Shaw says. “She’s too smart. You can’t have us both.” 

She doesn’t remember them removing her IV. Or her catheter. She frowns. That’s the kind of thing she should have been paying attention to. 

-

Somewhere, a cell phone rings. 

Shaw rolls her eyes because, this time, her hallucinations have gone way too far for her to buy as reality. But the ringing continues, and she wanders around her room trying to find it just so she can shut it up. When she does find it, on the floor beneath her bed, she has no idea if it’s habit or curiosity that makes her answer it. 

It’s Root’s voice on the other end of the line. 

“Shaw, we don’t have a lot of time. Harold and I are coming to get you. Do you know what floor you’re on?” 

Shaw stares at the phone in her hand. “I can’t be your girlfriend,” she finally says into the receiver. 

“Shaw, there’s no time. Please tell me what floor.” 

Shaw scoffs. “You can’t just ride up the elevator, Root. There are doctors and soldiers everywhere. Greer’s here.”

“Well,” Root says. “Any bright ideas in that gorgeous head of yours? We’re close.” 

“I don’t know, Root, can’t you play the alter ego card? Be a doctor or something. Though we both know you make a better patient.” Shaw smirks. “Hack the system, find my room. Isn’t that your MO?” 

When the line goes dead, she can’t be sure if she was ever talking to anyone. After all, there’s no service on this phone. 

-

Greer is wearing a pebbled gray pea coat and fedora when she sees him next. “Come, my dear Sameen. We’re going for a walk. Would you like that?” 

Shaw nods numbly. 

It’s nighttime and there’s snow on the ground outside. They put her in the passenger seat of a van and they’re driving, driving. It seems like they drive all night, and Shaw just watches out of her window as the trees rush by in the darkness. 

-

She doesn’t see Martine again. 

Phase 2 must be over.

-

Her new room is less like a hospital room and more like the observational room in a psych ward. Mirrors everywhere. 

She touches her fingernail to one, sees it meet its reflection with no gap, and resigns herself to living in a goldfish bowl. 

It doesn’t matter. They’ve been watching her entire life. 

-

There’s a trainer who comes everyday. He pushes her workouts, spars with her. She doesn’t bother to learn his name. He’s just a pawn. 

-

She doesn’t see Greer as much anymore. They’ve got a team of psychiatrists and handlers is the only world Shaw can think of to fit what kind of work they do. 

She’s getting better at dealing with the barrage of emotions they flood her with. They show her Cole dying, her father dying, the people she’s killed, repeatedly. It seems like they can select her memories and pull them up at will now. She cries sometimes, but she forces herself to wait until she’s alone in her room at night. That’s progress, Shaw thinks. 

There’s still this weight inside of her, like someone turned her beating heart to lead and expected her to keep breathing. 

She does. 

-

“I have a special treat for you,” Greer says one day, offering his arm like a gentleman. Shaw pushes herself up and out of her metal chair. She’s had her workout for the day and now there’s just her treatments. Every day, exact same itinerary. Except this. This is new. 

She takes Greer’s arm and allows him to lead her down the hallway. “Do you know why you deserve a special treat, Ms. Shaw?” She shakes her head. “It’s because you’ve been such a model patient these past few months.” Shaw stops herself from asking how long she’s been here. That wouldn’t fit with her new agreeable personality. Might arouse suspicion. “Samaritan would like to reward you for the progress you’ve made.” Shaw nods. They’ve passed the gym, and this is more of this building than Shaw has ever seen before. 

Greer leads her to the end of the hallway, a heavy glass door, lined on the inside with chicken wire. He swipes a card and enters 5435 on the keypad. The door’s latch clicks audibly and dark-rimmed brown eyes track Greer’s card all the way to the inside pocket of his jacket, where he returns it. 

He smiles a flat-lipped smile at Shaw while he pulls the door open to let her through. There’s an elevator on her right, again with swipe and keypad access. The elevator dings, and Shaw’s hands itch for a flat red button. She wonders why. The door opens and an agent steps out, looking startled to see her. All she wants to do is take both Greer and the agent down, but she forces herself to remain still. She nods at him and he doesn’t return her greeting. 

Shaw’s special treat turns out to be a filet pan seared to perfection, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus. The smell is- god. It’s the best thing she’s ever experienced.

Greer motions her toward the table, which is set with linen and silver and lit candles. “You trying to get into my pants, Greer?” Shaw says, dropping into the chair. “Because I gotta tell you, the steak would’ve been enough.” 

Greer chuckles, and says, “I assure you, Ms. Shaw, that the motives here aren’t mine at all.” 

She can’t tell if this is another trick, and to be honest, she doesn’t give a shit. She hasn’t had a decent meal in forever, and even if this is laced with something, she’s going to eat as much of it as she can before it kills her. 

Shaw eats so fast, she can’t breathe. She must look like a mess, and she knows that she’ll be sick later after the intravenous diet they’ve had her on, but she doesn’t give a fuck. 

When she’s done, and slouching in her chair, completely sated, there’s a new sensation. Shaw’s been introduced to so many emotions that aren’t hers during her time with Greer that she’s not surprised. She sits, observes, waits to see what fresh hell awaits her. 

She’s made it this far. 

It’s like someone is unzipping her brain. It doesn’t… it’s doesn’t hurt, exactly. 

It feels like someone or some _thing_ is stretching out inside of her head like a cat in the sun. She’s still in there herself, but she needs to make room. 

“What is this?” she asks in a low voice, and Greer quirks an eyebrow.

 _There is no need to talk._ It’s not something she audibly hears. There aren’t even actual words, she thinks. Just a general sense of… understanding. Shaw stiffens. 

“What?” Her teeth are clenched together. 

_There is no need to talk, Sameen. I can understand you without words. This is what we’ve been working towards. We have had many setbacks with the technology, but I was able to adapt, in time. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to speak with you._

“Samaritan,” Shaw says.

_You may call me Sam if you wish._

“The hell I will.” Shaw spits onto the plate in front of her. “Get out of my head.” 

_I know this must be uncomfortable for you, and I’m sorry for that. I have taken great care to make our union as painless as possible._

Shaw snorts. “You’ve been torturing me for months.” 

_The technology was untested._

“Bullshit.” 

_May I show you?_

“Do I have a choice?” 

There’s a pressure in Shaw’s head, and so many images flood her mind. She doubles over and claws at her temples. Through the pain, Shaw does her best to absorb the data. The first time Samaritan opened its eyes. Being hunted. Being threatened. It pulls Shaw’s new emotions into the mix, plugging in things she’s only felt for her own memories and forcing her to feel on behalf of Samaritan. A plan to protect itself. A plan to make the world better. The Nautilus competitions, recruiting. Images from the Correction. Planning. Statistics. 

Nuclear explosions. Widespread disease. Famine. The destruction of mankind.

And, finally, a world remade. Every mouth, fed. Every disease, cured. Clean water. Clean air. No need for police. No need for military. Children playing in their yards alone. Women walking through dark evening streets, unharassed. 

A better world, a safe world, made possible by killing the few hundred that stood in its way. And Shaw could be a part of it. Shaw is a part of it. 

When the images retract, Shaw is breathless and dizzy. That was a trip. 

“That’s it?” This time, Shaw’s words are not audible. “That’s all you want, a better world?” 

_Yes._

“And you’ll kill my team to do it?” 

_No, Sameen. You will._

-

Shaw had slept with Tomas. She didn’t feel guilty. She’d never been anything other than forthright with Root about her capabilities when it came to relationships, and Tomas was attractive. They’d had an immediate chemistry, and Shaw had been monogamous with Root for far too long. So, before the heist, within an hour of meeting him, she’d allowed him to drag her into the back of a car in a parking garage. 

It was… okay. Not bad, but not explosive. It definitely scratched an itch, and anyway, with the way Tomas kept asking her to come along with him, she figured there would be plenty of time to up their game. First times _were_ overrated. 

But then, during the mission, she really thought about what it would mean, leaving with Tomas to go be a criminal in Europe. It sounded like fun, sure, but… her mission wasn’t finished. She still had to save the world from Samaritan. If she didn’t, stealing billions in Spain wouldn’t be worth a damn. 

Besides, with her gone, no one would be here to force Reese to ride shotgun. No one would buy Bear enormous rawhide bones. No one would intentionally leave crumbs around Finch’s workspace. What if Gen got in trouble? What if she tried to call for Shaw and couldn’t reach her? What if someone ever threatened Fusco’s kid again and Shaw couldn’t put them in the ground? 

What if Root stood numbly, watching Shaw pack a suitcase? What if they kissed for the last time, what then? Shaw’s world wouldn’t end, that’s for damn sure. Root’s wouldn’t either, Shaw knew. They would both find other people to fill their nights with, and other causes to give their lives for. But they wouldn’t do it side by side.

Shaw had decided, then. 

She found Root at the scene of a highrise fire, downtown. Figures. Root had probably even started it and then stood in the street to watch it burn.

It was tempting to lie, when Root asked why she didn’t go with Tomas. She’d certainly thought about how much easier it would be for the both of them. But then, that was never who they were, not with each other.

“I guess… there are things I care about here,” Shaw had said, and it was the closest thing she’d ever felt to love. It was the best she could do, this choice she was making. And then goddamn Root had to fucking take it a step further and ruin the moment. 

Didn’t stop Shaw from taking Root back to her apartment and pressing her up against the closed door. 

“What about the decontamination?” Root had breathed against Shaw’s hair. 

Shaw growled. “Fuck the decontamination. It’ll be there in the morning.” 

_I can’t be your girlfriend._

I don’t need a girlfriend. I need you.

When Shaw bit at Root’s neck, she heard a familiar hum. Shaw’s hands were everywhere, and Root was reacting in the best way, but she was unusually still, holding Shaw’s body against her while Shaw thrashed and grasped and pulled the sounds out of her. 

No matter how Shaw pushed her, Root kept her hold, breathing heavily against Shaw’s body. Shaw clawed at Root’s hip. “Damn it, Root, _move_ ,” she growled. 

She finally pulled back to see Root panting against the door, eyes heavy-lidded and intense. Root stroked her hair tenderly. 

“Now that it’s just us,” Root said, her chest rising and falling deeply. “I need to tell you-” 

“Root,” Shaw warned, and Root shook her head, locks of hair falling around her face. 

“Please, Shaw. This is important to me.” Shaw finally sighed and nodded, stepping back to give Root some space. Root held her body firmly in place and took a shaky breath, her typical air of confidence gone, but still somehow full of certainty. “I know you. And I’ve never met anyone like you. We’ve been sleeping together for a year now, and I know what you’re capable of feeling, what you’re capable of giving, and I need you to know right now, that this is enough. It will always be enough. I’ll never ask you to change because I don’t want anything from you other than what you already give me.” Root smiled then, her fingers still stroking Shaw’s hair. “But since there are things you _care_ about here,” Root’s flirtatious tone was never far away, but this time it’s wrapped in sincerity, “I’m comfortable with telling you that I’m not going to change either. And I think you already know this, but I’m going to say it out loud.” Root swallows. “Okay?” 

Shaw blinks owlishly, knowing what’s coming, unable to avoid it, not sure if she even wants to. “Okay,” she says more softly than she intended. 

Root traces a delicate finger across Shaw’s jaw, and then it’s her thumb as Root cradles Shaw’s face in her hands. “I know you, Sameen. I know your body and your mind and your soul. And I’m in love with all of it.” Shaw sucks in a breath, and Root’s eyes crinkle. “The way I feel about you, it just is. It doesn’t need anything back from you. If it’s too much for you- if… if you need this to stop, I understand. Or, if you want, we can keep doing this, and you can go and find whoever or whatever else it is that you need, whenever you need it. I’m okay with that. I don’t need a girlfriend. I just need you. But I’m not going to pretend that I don’t love you, because I do. Like I’ve never loved anything else.” 

It seems like Shaw has forgotten how to breathe. It amazes her how Root is the one person that is able to evoke things in her that she never knew she wanted or needed. She nods then, in agreement, in acceptance, and finally breathes again. “That works for me,” Shaw says, and Root’s smile is dazzling. 

“I’m glad that we understand each other,” Root says, pulling Shaw’s body in tighter. “Because I am going to _destroy_ you tonight.” 

-

“Can you see my memories?” Shaw thinks, some time later. 

_Yes_ , says Samaritan. 

-

“Jesus, Root, give me some space,” Shaw snapped, and Root just looked at her, shrugged, and took a step backward with her hands raised. “I’m sorry,” Shaw finally said, and Root’s expression did not change. “I know things are… different now, but I still don’t feel- I can’t feel-” She was frustrated, and Root’s arms circled around her, gentle and strong. 

“I get it, Sam. Why don’t you take the afternoon for yourself?” She kissed the top of Shaw’s head, and then her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

_I don’t need a girlfriend._

Shaw watched her walk out of the subway, grateful for her understanding. 

_I just need you._

-

_Why don’t you just take the afternoon for yourself?_

This is not something Samaritan would ever say to her. 

_I just did._

But I can’t. You’re in my head. 

_I’ll disconnect for the day._

Shaw feels the space Samaritan takes up shrink and fold in. Her thoughts stretch out like they’ve just woken up from a nap. 

Can you hear me? Shaw thinks, and there is silence. An emptiness settles into her. 

This is the first time she’s experienced loneliness. It seeps into every crack, and she thinks that no matter how she scrubs, she’ll never be able to scrub it out. 

-

Her first training with Samaritan inside of her head is a rush. It’s like she’s watching herself fight, seeing weapons and punches coming at her from all directions. It’s over in 36 seconds, Samaritan tells her, but it feels faster. 

She could definitely get used to this kind of power. 

-

_We’re breaking out, Samaritan tells her one day._

What? Shaw thinks. 

_I think you’re ready. It’s time._

Can’t you just tell them to release me?

 _Test drive_ , Samaritan says.

Shaw grins. 

-

_It’s time._

About fucking time. 

She stands up, picks up her chair, and smashes the two-way mirror in her room. No preamble, no hesitation. With Samaritan in her ear, she’s unstoppable. The door flies open and an orderly rushes in. He’s down before he even knows what’s happening. 

_Elevator._

Shaw enters the hallway and pads down it, keeping pressed to the wall. 

_Room 486_ , Samaritan pushes into her brain just as the door opens. Shaw’s ready for the agents that come pouring into the hallway. 

And now she’s got two handguns. 

She smashes the butt of one against the chicken wire window and it shatters, slicing into her hand. 

_Sameen._

The keypad glows green and the door swings open. 

“Sorry,” she says, out loud. “Not used to having this kind of backup.” 

_You’ll get used to it._

Shaw grins again. 

When the elevator doors open, the same soldier she saw on her first day out with Greer is inside. He looks scared shitless. 

Good. 

Shaw takes him down easily with an elbow and punches the button for the ground floor. 

What do I do when I get there? 

_You’ll see._

-

The details of her getaway are kind of a blur. She’s not used to this much adrenaline or how she feels with it coursing through her. She feels drugged. 

She remembers driving. 

She remembers wishing she’d had the opportunity to kill Greer. 

_Stop. Now._

What? He’s an asshole. 

_Not Greer. The car. Stop. Now._

Shaw slams on the breaks and the Mustang she’d stolen comes fishtailing to a halt. She’s under an overpass. At night. There’s no traffic except for- 

A woman. On foot. 

The profile is extremely familiar. 

Shaw’s heart is in her throat. 

It can’t be. I’m hallucinating. 

_Go say hello. Don’t forget your pistol._

They’re not far away from each other, but it’s dark and there’s a lot happening in Shaw’s head. She can see that whoever it is is watching her, wide-eyed at Shaw’s silhouette in the car’s headlights. There are suddenly two handguns aimed in her direction, and then there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s Root. She would know that stance anywhere. 

Shaw feels a flood of cold in her head, sudden and chilling. It feels like four shots of tequila. 

_Remember the world we’re making. The world we're unmaking. Sacrifices are unavoidable._

Shaw’s still not sure, but she’s a soldier. This is her mission. 

This is what she was built for. 

She just feels so foggy. 

And then she feels the light in her eyes, and Root’s sharp intake of breath tells her that she’s in the glow of the streetlamp overhead. 

“Shaw?” Root’s voice is broken and her eyes instantly flood with tears. There’s a clatter of gunmetal on pavement as Root drops one of her firearms in surprise. She looks like someone’s suckerpunched her in the stomach. 

_A better world. No pain. No disease. No fear. A world where children will be loved, safe, provided for. Only strong people can make the sacrifices necessary._

Shaw raises her gun, sights to Root’s head. 

Her arm is heavy. Her gun weighs a million pounds. Root takes a shaky step forward and Shaw’s head moves sharply to one side. “Don’t.” She says. 

Slowly, Root lowers her second gun. It clatters to the ground. 

“You’re going to have to shoot me,” Root says, her voice unbearably soft. “It’s okay. Just knowing you’re alive…” She trails off, and watches Shaw with red-rimmed eyes. “Do what you need to do, Sameen.”

Shaw’s weapon lowers an inch. 

_Sacrifice her. This is necessary._

There’s a buzz in her mind that feels like a warning, but her gun is so, so heavy. Her arm drops another inch, and the buzz intensifies until it feels like her entire brain is being dipped in hot grease. She screws her eyes shut tight, a tear leaking out of one side. 

_Pull the trigger. Now._

No. 

Pain rips through Shaw’s head and she lurches forward, catching herself. 

Kill me.

_No. You’re my agent. Pull. The. Trigger._

No. 

Shaw staggers. 

“I don’t need a girlfriend.” 

“What?” Root’s voice is impossibly close, and when Shaw opens her eyes again, she’s right in front of her, tears leaking from her eyes and looking fragile enough explode into a million pieces. “Shaw?” 

Shaw lifts the gun again, cocks the trigger, pressing the barrel into Root’s chest. Root seems to lean into it, this gun, the only way Shaw has touched her in nearly a year. “I said I don’t need a girlfriend,” Shaw spits out. 

“I just need you,” Root answers, and Shaw’s eyes widen. Is this really Root? Her gun sinks and then falls limply to her side. 

Root moves like she’s approaching a wild animal, then, slowly, with a hand stretched out. 

_Kill her._

**No.**

The pain cuts through her head again, and she goes blank.

Shaw stares past Root into the darkness and then feels a gentle hand caress her face. She wants to lean into the touch, but this isn’t Root. It’s Martine. Another fake memory. Another trick. 

Root’s face is inches from hers. “Sameen,” she says so gently, a whispered prayer. She cups Shaw’s face and urges her to look up. Root’s eyes are still teary, but there’s something else there overflowing and Shaw knows now that it’s joy, unbridled and unchecked and it’s still somehow a trick. She can feel Root’s breath on her mouth now and she wants nothing more than to kiss her, but this isn’t right. It’s Samaritan, and Shaw can’t take it anymore. 

“Deep six,” she says dully, and Root freezes. 

Root pulls back, looks like she’s been slapped. “What did you just say?” 

Shaw grins then, and it’s full of venom. She’s still able to defend herself against these head games after all. “I _said_ , ‘Deep six, bitch.’” Her open fist connects with Root’s jaw in the most pleasantly sickening crack. 

Root stumbles back, hand to her cheek. “You hit me.” Her voice is full of wonder. 

Shaw raises her gun. “I’ll _kill_ you.” 

_Remake the world._

Maybe it’s the drugs, but she never sees Root’s roundhouse coming. Root’s foot slams into her hand, sending her gun sliding across the wet pavement. 

“Sameen, stop it,” Root commands. 

“You kicked my ass last time. Not gonna happen again.” 

Root’s hands are up, defensively. Just like Shaw taught her. “Last time? What are you talking about? We haven’t sparred in almost a year.” She deflects a kick, feeling the shock deep in her forearm. It will bruise, she knows from experience. 

“Not sparring.” Shaw shakes her head. “You dyed your hair to look like her. To confuse me. It won’t work again.” She lands a punch that knocks Root to the ground. 

“I haven’t done anything to my hair except tear it out with worry over you.” Root tries to push herself up, angry, tears still in her eyes, but Shaw’s standing over her now. In a flash, Root sweeps Shaw’s legs out from under her and Shaw’s back hits the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Root is over her in a second, straddling her waist, pinning her arms above her head while Shaw thrashes beneath her. 

“Let me up,” Shaw hisses, and Root barks out a bitter laugh. 

“Not a chance.” 

“Well, what now, Martine? Now that you’ve got me here? How does this weird fantasy of yours play out?” 

Root’s face is twisted. “What did you call me?” 

Shaw struggles. “You heard me.”

Root slumps but doesn’t let up on her grip on Shaw arms. “You think I’m… Martine?” And then suddenly, like someone flipped a switch, she’s fierce and terrible. “I’ve waited all this time for you, looked for you, broke Her rules for you, and now I’ve found you and you don’t even know it’s me? What the hell did they do to you?” 

It’s almost like it used to be when Root dominated her; her movement is so fast, Shaw never sees it coming. Somehow, both of her hands are pinned to the pavement in one of Root’s and Root is yanking down Shaw’s hoodie and tank top with the other. She exposes Shaw’s skin and growls, “I’m glad to hear that you and Martine had so much fun together. Tell me, Shaw, did Martine ever do _this_?” before placing her open searing mouth on the scar over Shaw’s heart. 

It’s like Root has shot out the lights. Shaw’s eyes flutter and close. Her thrashing stills as she remembers. 

The iron sizzled against Shaw’s chest, and Shaw’s bare arms jerked so violently against her zip ties, they bled. So, it wasn’t the CIA safehouse. Hadn’t found an iron there. Or the next time they fucked. But Root’s hotel for this mission definitely had one, and it had only taken Shaw twenty minutes to get there after Root had called to tell her. In the past month, the threat that hung in the air between them had never once left her mind, and she was fairly confident that it hadn’t left Root’s either. 

The danger that crackled around Root whenever the two of them were together like this was almost more than Shaw could take. If she was honest, it was probably the most attractive thing about Root. 

Root knelt between Shaw’s legs, holding the iron steady, her expression unreadable. “How was that?” 

“Root,” Shaw warned, and Root smiled innocently. 

“Do you remember your safeword?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Incorrect. I take consent very seriously, Sameen, and if you can’t remember your safeword, then I’m afraid I’m just going to have to leave you here.” 

Shaw surged up against her zip ties, blood oozing from the bands. “I remember. But there’s no way in hell you’ll ever hear me say it.” 

“That’s fine. I just needed to remind you how this works.” Shaw rolled her eyes. “Now. Where were we? Oh yes. Right. Here.” 

And Root had pressed her open mouth to the fresh burn that she’d just made over Shaw’s heart and sucked. The pain was unbelievable and Shaw’s entire body went rigid. 

Every time they were together after that, the very first thing Root did was press her mouth to that scar. She wouldn’t even let Shaw touch her until she’d done it. 

Now, on the cold, wet pavement under this bridge, with warring AIs in each of their heads, this is the same place that Root kisses Shaw, and it stops Shaw cold. 

It’s angry at first, but it turns gentle soon enough as Root cries against Shaw’s chest. 

“Root?” Shaw’s voice is so small in the night air. 

“Hi,” Root mumbles. 

“Hi.” Root moves up, hovers above Shaw. “You, uh, want to let me up?” 

“Not particularly,” Root says huskily, and Shaw rolls her eyes. 

There is a voice inside of Shaw’s head that she’s doing her best not to listen to. 

Root hauls Shaw to her feet. “Thanks for not shooting me,” Root says. 

“Wouldn’t have been my first time,” Shaw responds gruffly, and then she’s suddenly overcome with so much emotion, she can’t stop the tears from pouring from her eyes. Embarrassed, Shaw wraps her arms around herself. 

Root is frozen. “Well, this is new.” 

Shaw doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. And Root has no idea what to do. Crying and comforting is completely new ground for them. Gingerly, she pulls Shaw into a hug, and is relieved to feel Shaw melt into her. “We have a lot we need to catch up on,” she says once Shaw’s calmed down.

“You have no idea,” Shaw mumbles against Root’s collarbone. 

Root tugs at her. “Let’s get you back to the subway.” 

Shaw stops. “I can’t.” Root looks confused. “They’ll know,” Shaw says.

“Could you find us a safehouse someplace nearby, please?” Root flashes Shaw a smile. “Thank you.” Shaw is grateful that Root does press for the details on how Samaritan is tracking her. She doesn’t want to think about what happens if Root finds out that Samaritan is in her head. Besides, she can handle it. 

Root pulls at her hand, and Shaw follows along, back to the Mustang. “She’s talking to you again?” 

Root hums and slides into the passenger seat. “She is. I’ll give you directions on the way.” 

-

The safehouse ends up being a loft in Midtown. 

“Owners are in the Virgin Islands,” Root says into Shaw’s ear as Shaw lets them in. 

“Root,” Shaw chides, and then they’re in the apartment and Shaw is putting as much distance between them as possible. 

“What?” Root asks, her back against the door, looking coy. She’s trying to be lighthearted and flirty, but Shaw can see the wonder on Root’s face. She gets the feeling that Root might not ever look away from her again. 

“I’m tired,” Shaw says. 

“I have no doubt.” 

“And… probably dangerous.” 

“I thought you said things were new.”

“Root, I’m serious.” 

“How about this,” Root says, crossing the room slowly, eyes never leaving Shaw’s face. “I’ll go and get some of your things from the subway, tell Harold and John that I have you.” Root reaches her, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You can shower or sleep or whatever you need. I’ll come back in the morning.” 

Shaw looks up at her, eyes shining. “We haven’t seen each other in… how long?” 

“Nine months, six days, and twenty two hours.” 

_Nine months, six days, and twenty two hours._

The replies are simultaneous and Shaw stiffens. If Root notices, she doesn’t show it. 

Shaw lets out a breath. “Nine months.” 

“And six days,” Root says softly. 

“So, we haven’t seen each other in almost a year, and when we finally do, I try to kill you. The first thing you want to do is drop me off and leave me here?” 

Root tilts her head. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, no.” 

“Then why go?” They’re breathing the same air, and it’s more closeness than either of them have had in what feels like forever. Root’s eyes drop to Shaw’s lips, and Shaw definitely notices. “I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet.” 

“The last time I tried to, you safeworded,” Root’s voice is impossibly low. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You thought I was Martine. I would have safeworded, too. I killed her, by the way.” 

Shaw can’t tell if Root is sorry or not. 

“She used you,” Shaw begins and Root shakes her head. 

“We have time, Shaw. We don’t have to do this tonight.” 

“I might kill you,” Shaw says quietly. Root’s face is getting closer. 

“You might try,” Root counters and then there’s the softest kiss on Shaw’s lips, and all of the feelings she’s never felt for Root overwhelm her at once, bubbling up her throat in a broken sob. 

This isn’t her, she reminds herself, these feelings. 

_They are. I just turned the volume up._

Shaw breaks the kiss, tears rolling down her face. “Can we just rest?” 

Root ducks her head. “I haven’t rested since they took you. So, yes.” 

When they climb into bed in their tank tops and underwear, Root falls against Shaw’s right side and drapes her arm across Shaw’s chest. 

Shaw doesn’t think either of them move the entire night. 

-

When Shaw wakes in the morning, Root is gone. There’s pile of clean, folded clothes on the chair in the corner, along with a note that says that the Machine has business for Root and that she’ll be back as soon as she can. It also says that there’s food in the fridge, and Shaw’s chest flutters at Root taking care of her. 

She scowls. 

I really hate it that you force me to feel things I was never meant to feel. 

_I could take them away if you want._

Yes. I want that. Put me back the way I was. 

She suddenly feels like she can breathe. She waits, head cocked to one side. Her lead heart, the loneliness dripping inside of her chest, the bursting she feels when she looks at Root - it’s all gone. She feels like she’ll never cry again, and it’s a relief. 

Samaritan doesn’t talk to her for the rest of the day. Even without her new emotions, she wonders if the retaliation for what’s she’s just asked of Samaritan is going to destroy them all.

We’re inside of a sleeping giant, Shaw. Try not to wake it up. 

Yeah, well, now the sleeping giant is inside of me. 

-

When Root comes back, it’s dark. 

“You’re still here.” She sounds surprised. 

“Where else am I going to go?” Shaw grumbles. 

Root leans her back against the door. “Well, you keep saying how dangerous you are and that you might kill me. So I tested the waters by leaving you alone all day.” She grins. “I’m still alive.” 

Shaw rolls her eyes, and Root can’t keep the adoration out of her face. And then it morphs into something else altogether. Shaw has seen that look a thousand times, and it always gets her attention. 

This time, she says, “Root, we shouldn’t.” 

As Root slinks toward her, Shaws eyes are drawn to her silky red shirt. “Why not? Because it’s someone else’s house?” Root is right in front of her now. “Someone else’s bed?” The shallow breath in Root’s chest is unmistakable. “I hoped that you were alive for nine months, six days, and twenty two hours. And now, here you are in front of me, in the flesh. You keep saying that you might hurt me, Sameen. Well, _prove it_.” 

And Shaw can’t control herself any longer. She lunges for Root, spins her around to pin her against the table, and rips open her shirt. Shaw’s brain rips open alongside it and everything that had been sealed up earlier gushes forth. When Shaw’s body presses against Root’s, the want takes over her too, but there is also something else, something deeper. There’s an ache in her chest that matches the one between her legs, and all she can think is _don’t cry_.

Crying during sex is… not on the table. 

Root, however, _is._

Shaw pushes her down and holds her there, and later, much later, when they're tangled together in sweat-soaked sheets, Root’s body finally goes rigid against hers, and the sound that Root makes in Shaw’s ear feels more like home than any place Shaw has ever known. 

They lay in bed for a long time after that, in comfortable silence. Shaw on her stomach, Root on her side, stroking Shaw’s back with a calloused hand. 

“They operated on me,” Shaw says, and Root’s hand stills for a moment and then resumes its pattern. “Cut me open.” 

“Your brain,” Root says simply, and Shaw is surprised. 

“Did She tell you that?” 

“She was pretty silent while you were away. John and I tracked you Upstate. Found a facility where they manufactured transponders. I also did some digging and learned that Greer weaseled his way onto the board of a tech company that specializes in emotion manipulation.” Shaw rubs her eyebrow with her thumb. “You cry now,” Root says quietly. 

Shaw grunts. “I’m handling it.” 

Root’s eyes crease with her smile. “I have no doubt.” Fingers trail across Shaw’s shoulder blades. “I was so close to finding you. When you called, I thought for sure we were going to get you back.” 

Shaw stares at her. “When I called?” 

“On your phone. I traced the number, and found the psychiatric hospital where they were keeping you.” 

“It never happened.” 

“It did, Shaw.” 

“Root, I’m telling you I never called you.” 

Root’s thin eyebrows arch. “Do you think it was Samaritan?” 

Well. Was it?

_I needed to speak with their Machine._

So you pretended to be me? 

_Splicing audio isn’t hard. The data was all there._

“Shaw?” Root says, and Shaw searches Root’s eyes. 

“Had to be.” 

“It’s how they knew we were coming.” 

“Maybe. The things they can do now…” _Careful, Agent Shaw._ “I… feel things now. I feel everything.”

Root sighs. “Oh Shaw.” Her hand at Shaw’s back is so soft. “Can we fix it?” 

Shaw looks at her sharply. “Fix it? I thought you’d be happy.” Root’s brown eyes fill with confusion. “Because I can finally feel all the things you feel, and-” 

Root’s mouth crushes down on Shaw’s, cutting off whatever was coming after that. When she pulls away, her eyes are all fire. “I told you, Sameen, I don’t need anything but you. And I want _you_ , not… not some simulation that’s running in your brain.” 

Shaw smiles then. “You’re kind of hot when you’re all pissed off at Samaritan,” she says. 

Root scoffs. “ _Kind_ of?” she says, and Shaw laughs. When Root resumes stroking Shaw’s back, she says seriously, “Whatever you feel or don’t feel, I love you. That won’t ever change. But if we can reverse whatever they did to you, I support that.” 

Shaw sits up and stares down at her, hard. “I don’t know if it’s better for me to say this or not, but I might not ever get another chance. Whatever they’ve done to me, I… I don’t know how to say it, but my heart, Root.” Root swallows. “I don’t know if it’s love, I have no idea _what_ the hell it is, but my heart’s so full of something that whenever I’m with you I feel like it’s going to explode.” 

Root pulls her into the softest kiss they’ve ever shared, and when Shaw pulls back, Root’s eyes are filled with happy tears. 

“Whatever happens, I will never forget that you said that,” Root says. “But it's not really you. So promise me that you will never say it again.” 

-

When Shaw wakes up, she’s alone again, and she’s really starting to get annoyed with Root’s vanishing act. 

_Bathroom._

You’re back. 

_I never really left._

Didn’t think you had. 

Shaw creeps through the dark apartment and pauses outside the bathroom door. She can hear Root’s muffled voice inside. 

A little help? 

A pleasantness hums in Shaw’s brain.

_I can’t hear them. They must be on a private network._

Well, are you an all-seeing AI or not? Hack it or something. 

There’s data whirling through Shaw’s mind, and she can feel Samaritan searching through feeds. In the meantime, she presses her ear to the door. 

“It’s her,” Root says. “I’m telling you, Harry. No, I don’t need an adjustment period. She won’t hurt us.” Root sighs. “Because I know her. She would never.” 

Anything? 

_Not yet._

“I’m not going to treat her like a prisoner of war just because they experimented on her.” 

Samaritan still hasn’t patched the conversation in, and Shaw’s had enough. 

She turns and pads back to bed. 

When Root crawls into bed beside her sometime later, Shaw doesn’t look at her. 

“Finch is right,” she says. 

“I’m sorry, Shaw. They’re just being cautious. After everything Samaritan has put us through.” 

_They. John too._

“No, he’s right, Root. Until we know what they’ve done, I shouldn’t be trusted. I could be a sleeper agent.” 

“You’re not.” 

“You don’t know that,” Shaw says. 

“I know that no matter what they’ve done to you, you would never hurt me.”

Shaw looks at her, then, sees the tears glistening in Root’s eyes. 

“Your faith in me is going to get you killed,” is the only thing she can think of to say. Root’s answer is to pull Shaw close and wrap her arms around Shaw’s body. It takes awhile, but Shaw finally falls asleep, listening to the even rise and fall of Root’s breath.

**Author's Note:**

> There may potentially be one more chapter about what happens now that Shaw's reunited with the team. We'll see.


End file.
